


Long-Lost

by owlberry



Series: Lost Boys [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Clay | Dream and Toby Smith | Tubbo are Siblings, Dream Smp, Gen, Heavy Angst, POV Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28675857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlberry/pseuds/owlberry
Summary: Droplets fall through the musty air, splattering against the floor. The sound of it is almost deafening. It dances in the shadows with the echoes of labored breathing. Blood, sweat, and panic scent the room heavily.It is evident then, with blood running down his face in streaks, he cannot do this.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo
Series: Lost Boys [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145741
Comments: 10
Kudos: 165





	Long-Lost

**Author's Note:**

> been wanting tubbo to go off on dream for a while now. be free my boy. also, dream-tubbo as siblings is one of my favorite fan ideas! it's not something i could ever see being real in canon though, so i took the opportunity to explore it myself! hopefully i did it justice
> 
> minor warning for canon typical violence, non-graphic descriptions of blood, and canon typical angst. if the things shown on the smp don't bother you, hopefully this won't either. 
> 
> as this is from dream's perspective, once we get to logstedshire he has some thoughts and opinions that may be somewhat disturbing. i do not personally agree with the character's actions during that arc and never have. for the story i am simply looking at things through the character's lens and portraying the events from his point of view. hopefully it is not extreme enough to take away from your enjoyment. take care <3
> 
> disclaimer: this work is a fictitious in-universe telling of the story laid out on the dreamsmp. in no way is it meant to portray any of the creators named or otherwise, merely the characters they depict. thank you!
> 
> now that i've made everything sound much more scary than it probably is, please enjoy

Droplets fall through the musty air, splattering against the floor. The sound of it is almost deafening. It dances in the shadows with the echoes of labored breathing. Blood, sweat, and panic scent the room heavily.

It is evident then, with blood running down his face in streaks, he cannot do this.

In the haze of his panic, his hurt, his grief, he spies it. A wide, scared blue eye peeking around the corner. Staring at him with nothing but fear. It’s the first time that’s ever happened. It breaks his heart.

He has survived the day, but he cannot help thinking this is the end of his life as he knows it. 

Whether he likes it or not, a part of him has just died.

-

There was always a shadow following him. Nipping at his heels and tugging on his heartstrings in the night. Trying to snatch him up. Take him over. Turn him into what he was always meant to be.

A nightmare.

He fought it for so long. Shoved the feelings and the urges away. Ignored the voices telling him to give in—just give in. He tried to be good, he really did. But one can only run from their fate for so long.

At some point, he just got tired.

One night, it finally got its wish. It snatched him up in a bloody wave. Scarred him for his insolence. Invaded his every thought, his every feeling. Forced itself into every crevice of his mind and body, never to let go.

All the while, his brother was forced to watch on. Barely a tiny thing back then. Hardly able to walk without assistance or talk without babbling nonsense. He had to watch.

Things could not continue from then. He knew that. There was something different about him now. A part of him that was unhinged. No child could be around that. The last thing he wanted was to hurt his brother…

-

He crouches in a tree, watching the forest floor. Every second that ticks by grates on his nerves. There’s a writhing deep in his chest. It tints his vision, feeding him traitorous thoughts. _This is taking too long_ , he thinks. _Should just kill the kid_ —

He slaps a hand against his head a few times, clearing those thoughts. No. No, he’s taking care of it peacefully. No one has to get hurt. It’ll be okay. Like a mantra, he repeats that to himself.

It feels like hours before there’s a fluttering in the sky above. He can barely blink before a man in green drops gracefully to the ground below. It’s hard not to stare at his wide black wings. They’re magnificent. And… not entirely _normal_.

Though, no one really _is_ here…

He’s given no more time to study the man before stark blue eyes snap to him. Once again, there’s something unsettling about him. He gives himself no time to be afraid, gracefully hopping to the ground.

“You asked to meet me?” The man—Philza—asks, tilting his head. He’s not unkind, but his friendliness seems forced. His eyes seem to scan everything around. He’s suspicious.

“Yes.”

“Mm, it’s not easy to reach me these days. I’m surprised you found a way. Only the most determined usually manage it.”

“I need your help with something.”

Philza tilts his head once more, narrowing his eyes. He crosses his arms and leans casually back against a tree. It’s impossible not to watch the movements of his wings as he does so. There’s something mesmerizing about them.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“Dream.”

It comes to him immediately. Forces itself out before he can think twice. Well, it is the truth he supposes. That is what has been chosen for him, that is what he shall call himself. That is what the people of this world will know him as.

And they will know him. Something tells him that explicitly.

“How old are you?”

“Why do you care?”

Philza shrugs. “You just look young. Far too young to have those wounds.”

One of Dream’s hands jumps self-consciously to his face. The wounds have already scarred over. He heals fast now, apparently. But he knows the scars will not fade normally. They are forever.

Sensing his discomfort, Philza moves on. “Alright, what is it you need help with?”

Dream inhales slowly, trying to get his thoughts together. It’s too much. All too much to explain, especially to a stranger. The stories about him don’t matter. At the end of the day, Dream doesn’t know him. Much less want to.

But he may be Dream’s only chance.

“I have…” He tries, voice small. “There’s something wrong with me. I can’t explain it, but it’s… it’s really bad and dangerous and I’m worried—”

“I know,” Philza cuts him off. “I can feel it in you. I understand. But I’m afraid I can’t fix it. This is something you will have to deal with on your own, kid.”

“No, I—I _get_ that. I don’t want you to—That’s not—”

“Take a deep breath.”

For some reason, Dream obeys.

“Now, explain.”

“My…” Dream looks to the ground. “I have a little brother. I’m—I’m all he has left. But I can’t take care of him anymore. I worry what I’ll do if…”

There’s a long quiet moment where the uncertainties stretch between them. Part of Dream wants the angel to lambast him. To scold and punish him. It would give him an excuse. An excuse to let the slowly festering rage in his chest out.

But Philza is quiet. His expression nothing but soft and sympathetic. And Dream hates it. He doesn’t want pity. He just wants someone to take care of his brother for him. He just wants to know he’ll be safe…

“What do you want me to do?” Philza asks, voice soft.

“He—He’s that way.” Dream points into the forest. “Down by the river. I really don’t care what you do, I just need you to keep him safe. Even if that’s not with you, just make sure he has someone to take care of him.”

“How old is he?”

Dream opens his mouth but finds nothing. Shame burns him. Why? Why can’t his head work straight when he needs it to? Why did this have to happen to _him_?

“I can’t remember.” Dream whispers, looking at his shoes.

“Old enough to remember you?” There is no judgement in Philza’s voice.

It’s a strange question, perhaps. But Philza is strange himself. Dream shakes his head softly.

“What’s his name?”

There’s a pang of real emotion in Dream’s chest. A sadness he can’t quite explain. His fists clench softly.

“Tubbo.”

Philza nods, deep in thought. “Alright, I’ll do what I can for him.”

A shaky breath escapes Dream. It’ll be okay. He doesn’t have to try and convince himself anymore. Tubbo will be safe. Safe from _him_ and hopefully whatever other horrors this world points his way. Right now, that’s all Dream can ask for.

“Thank you…” Dream whispers. “I owe you.”

“No. You don’t.” Philza smiles down kindly at him.

Then, the man extends his black wings and pushes into the sky. Dream watches him go, heart pounding in his ears. Nausea sits strong at the back of his throat. There’s an itching just under the surface of his skin. Opportunities lost. He ignores the thoughts it brings him.

-

Once more, he crouches in the branches of a tall tree, eyeing the river below. Hardly a second after his arrival, a green silhouette drops to the riverbank. The angel looks down solemnly.

A tiny child stares back up at him, settled in a small box. With wide eyes and unruly brown hair. Clutched in his hands is a tiny stuffed bee. There are tear tracks all down the child’s face. Dream keenly ignores them.

He’s too far to hear anything, but he sees the angel’s mouth move. The child murmurs something back. More tears flow down his cheeks. The angel nods.

Then, he brings a hand down, gently touching the child’s forehead. Those familiar wide blue eyes slip shut. In seconds, the child is fast asleep. He looks peaceful. Dream hopes that feeling will stay.

With sharp eyes, the angel looks up directly at where Dream is crouched. There’s already a protective fire in his eyes. Yes, Dream decides then. His brother will be safe. There’s not a doubt in his mind about that.

The angel reaches down again, scooping the slumbering child up into his arms. He makes sure the bee comes with. Black wings extend once more. In a burst of darkness, the angel is gone.

Tubbo is gone.

Dream stays there, staring down at the river until sundown.

-

One thing everyone everywhere must learn at some point in their lives is that time is uncaring. Time is cruel. It does not stop or slow down for anyone or anything. It is ambivalent to all the struggles of the world. All the pain and the hurt.

Time carries on. Regardless of grief, or struggle, or anger, or loneliness. Whether one likes it or not, they must carry on as well.

A decade or so passes. Sometimes painfully slow, other times too fast to keep up with. Many things change. Some temporarily, some permanent. But one thing does not. Dream does not see Tubbo.

He’s tempted sometimes. To go find him. Just… check how he’s doing. If he’s gotten along in life. Deep down, he thinks it would be a mistake. He finds himself thankful he never cared to find out where Philza resides.

Most of the time though, things are just fuzzy. Remembering who he used to be, what life was like… it gets harder and harder. As the years go by, he finds himself forgetting entirely. The further he gets from being that scared, hurt little boy the easier life gets.

-

Dream grows up. Grows into something… different than intended. There is no reason to regret or mourn over it anymore. He finds ways to become content.

Eventually, he finds his place. Finds people to be impressed by him, rather than frightened. People who don’t ask more questions than necessary, as long as he doesn’t either. It works.

Together, their ambitions grow. They venture off into the wild, find some untapped land to call their own. It becomes something none of them have known perhaps ever. Home.

They build together, boat through the oceans, tease each other. Life passes peacefully for the first time in a long time. All three of them find happiness.

Then, something horrible happens.

A ratty blond child shows up.

It’s hard to explain. Hard for Dream to even rationalize to himself. But something about Tommy just… irks him. More than his annoying demeanor should really warrant. Something about him just lights a fire under Dream. Irritates him more than… _anything_ ever has.

For some reason, it’s exhilarating.

They spend a whole day tormenting each other. Going back and forth in some weird annoyance dance. Tommy just won’t quit. Won’t give up and just go back home. On one hand, Dream has to admire his determination. On the other, Dream wants him _dead_.

Even so, Dream doesn’t see the point in banishing him for good. Tommy is… interesting. He’ll be good for a laugh at least. Plus, maybe messing with him will help quiet that ever present feeling in his chest, in his mind. The want for hurt and pain and chaos…

Dream ends up wishing he would’ve sent Tommy away for good. Made him leave and never return. Or better yet, teach him a lesson by taking one of his lives.

The next morning, Tommy returns. At his heels is a boy around his age. With messy brown hair, and wide, bright blue eyes. Despite how much he’s grown, he’s unmistakable.

It’s Tubbo.

He’s back.

-

The appearance of the young man stirs a discord in Dream like never before. Memories and emotions rush over him like a tidal wave. Things he’d long forgotten rear their ugly faces. For a long while, it’s hard to think straight.

All at once, he feels like a little boy again. Torn apart at the seams by… whatever it is that’s consumed him. Confronted with dark urges and impulses. The all-consuming wish to destroy everything and everyone around him.

For the most part, he thinks he does a good job hiding it to outside eyes. The mask is a big help in it. No one notices him scowling or staring blankly into space. No one can see him watch the boy in the green shirt with a feverish intensity.

Of course, he can’t hide everything. Not from those who know him most. Sapnap realizes how quiet he is. George always notices when he sneaks up onto the community house roof to glare in the direction of Tommy’s mountain home.

They both ask, of course. Dream finds himself lying every time. Truthfully, he doesn’t know why. It’s just an instinct. Part of him would like to confide in them. Confess… everything, really. Something stops him before he can even think about it too long.

For the first time in a long time, he feels like he did right after abandoning Tubbo.

He feels stranded.

-

It makes no sense to him. Philza took Tubbo. Presumably found him somewhere to live safely. He can’t comprehend why that led him _here_. Led him right back to Dream…

Really though, that just makes it all the easier to act like he doesn’t know Tubbo. Because truthfully, he _doesn’t_. Not anymore. Tubbo is… entirely different. It’s hard to remember how he was before. It all seems out of reach to him. But he knows for certain this is not the same boy he knew.

Sometimes, he even has to wonder if he’s mistaken. If he’s just kid himself into thinking the first young boy with brown hair and blue eyes he finds is his brother. He hardly even can _remember_ their childhood.

And it’s been so _long_ , how could he ever correctly identify him in the first place? This Tubbo doesn’t even have the same _accent_ as him. Dream has to be kidding himself. He _has_ to.

No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t convince himself.

-

Along the way, Dream decides it simply doesn’t matter. Who Tubbo is, who Dream is, who _any_ of them are… What any of them may mean to each other. It’s irrelevant. This is a new land. A new world. It’s a fresh start.

Besides, Tubbo has a new family now. He’s got Tommy, and Wilbur, and Fundy and—all of it. And that’s fine! Because Dream has… has George, and Sapnap and—and anyone else he wants…

Even so, on quiet days without nothing better to do, and no one else to keep him occupied, Dream finds himself watching Tubbo. Following the boy around. Keeping tabs on… whatever it is he does all the time.

Dream just likes to know what’s going on in his land, that’s all. Since Tubbo is always so close to Tommy’s schemes, why shouldn’t he keep a closer on eye him? Not to mention that stupid new country they made…

Now, he’s perched on Tubbo’s roof. Far down below, Fundy and Tubbo are in the garden. They’re chattering about something or other. Truthfully, Dream never understands it. None of it sounds like a ploy to thwart Dream, nor revolution speak though. He mostly tunes it out, watching the horizon instead.

“…and then I met you guys, and now Wilbur’s my dad, and—” Fundy is blabbering on excitedly. It’s hard to tell how old he is, given how quickly he’s growing. He still chatters like he’s just learned to talk, though. “And—And that’s all, actually. What about you?”

“Hm?” Tubbo hums from below.

“Where did you come from?”

There’s a strange sinking feeling in Dream’s gut then. He tears his eyes away from surveying the trees. He’s not sure what to expect. Some story about Philza, maybe. Or whoever Philza dumped him onto. He cracks his knuckles—an old nervous habit.

“Oh, ah…” Tubbo laughs nervously. “I don’t really remember much. I don’t have as good a memory as you.”

“How’d you meet Tommy?”

Tubbo shrugs. “We just kind of… grew up together, I guess. Same with Wilbur. Don’t really remember how I got there though. I was too young…”

“What about your family?”

Dream wants nothing more than to leap down there and shut Fundy up himself. This is—No, they shouldn’t be talking about this, they shouldn’t be… But he doesn’t even know why. It doesn’t matter.

Tubbo doesn’t remember him.

“Well, Tommy kind of became my family.” Tubbo says lightly, handing Fundy a fresh flower. “Wilbur too. Now you!”

“What about before that?” Fundy tilts his head to one side. “They weren’t always your family, were they?”

It’s quiet for a moment. The wind picks up, rustling the leaves and grass. The side of Dream’s green hood knocks against his mask. He can’t find the energy to be annoyed about it. His full attention is locked on the two boys below, and the gentle words passed between them.

Tubbo’s next words are almost too quiet for Dream to pick out.

“I had a brother. A long time ago.”

It should bring something out in him. Some joy or pain or sadness or relief. But Dream feels nothing as Tubbo’s words sink over him. He’s just empty.

“Like Tommy?” Fundy asks.

Tubbo laughs lightly. “No, no I don’t think so. I don’t really remember him well. Just that something happened to him. That’s why he’s not here.”

“Did he look like you?”

“I don’t know,” Tubbo admits. “I don’t really remember anything about him. Just his eyes. I remember his eyes.”

Before he makes the conscious decision, Dream is on his feet and walking away. He leaps off the edge of the roof, landing silently in the grass. As he leaves the house behind, he doesn’t pick an end destination. All he knows is he should get away.

He should leave and never look at Tubbo again.

-

Dream feeds off emotion.

Ever since that darker power joined him, he’s known it to be true. The more he makes others feel, the stronger he grows. The better he feels.

When he first started learning to control his new abilities, he figured something out very quickly. Bad emotions are easiest. Easiest to spawn and worsen, easiest to snowball into something worse. Easiest to enlarge and feed and leech off of.

For a while, he stuck to that. In his mad dash for power, he did everything he could to make others miserable. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t matter what he had to do. As long as it made someone feel something, it was a success.

Eventually, after some hard lessons learned, he forced himself to be different. To be better. To stop terrorizing and start… _trying_. Trying to do something, _anything_ , that made someone feel good. And for a while, he did it, better than he could have hoped.

It’s hard to break bad habits though. It’s hard when there’s a little bug crawling up his neck, and no matter how times he gently moves it, it comes back. Biting and clawing at him harder than before.

It’s hard when he doesn’t even have to _try_. Doesn’t have to do _anything_ for those bad emotions to spawn. Rage and hurt and bitterness and embarrassment. When it’s so easy, it’s hard to _want_ to be better.

And then, there are more bugs. More sticks poking him, taunting him. Little voices in his ear, screaming at him. Claiming he’s been so evil—all the while he was _trying_. He was _better_. He was _good_.

It’s hard when he _does_ try. Try to create bad emotions instead of good ones. When he tries to defend himself, keep his land in order, and all he gets is a rush. A high like never before, as a button is pressed, and friends betray friends. When a bomb ignites, crumbling a country. An arrow launched, and a war _won_.

On further reflection, it isn’t _hard_.

It’s impossible.

-

Maybe it would’ve been easier to just say no. To tell Wilbur he simply would not be allowed his nation. Perhaps it would have saved a lot of a headache. Had he taken away their nation, forced them to leave… Maybe that would’ve been best, for everyone.

Because he sees it. It isn’t just Dream getting lost in the power, and the hunger, and the _need_ to be listened to. All of them are slowly sinking into the trap. Slowly losing themselves in whatever curse this land has set upon them.

Perhaps he should have just ended it.

But there was that tugging in his chest, that pounding in his veins. Chaos is what he longs for. What he _feeds_ off. This group of boys—this _family_ —with their stupid jackets and strange accents… they give him exactly what he wants.

So, he gives them what they want.

It only emboldens each of them further.

Wilbur quickly grows discontent with his rule. Wishes for more, for something _solid_. He calls himself an election. When Dream hears about it, it’s hard not to laugh. He overestimates himself. Overestimates the sway he has on everyone other than his teenage lackeys and pubescent son.

Said son has been growing in a shadow, recently. It’s hard not to imagine what that will turn him into. What resentment might be growing in his heart.

Having gotten a “win”, Tommy is feeling high. He continues poking Dream. Prodding him until Dream turns to snap his jaws. He’ll dance around and cry and whimper, regretting his decisions before doing it all again. Eventually, he and Tubbo finally do it. They get a disc back. Dream hates himself for it.

Tubbo seems to be the only resident of L’manchildberg left unchanged. He’s still just… Tubbo. Following joyfully at Tommy’s feet. Shoulders rising under Wilbur’s praise. Grinning like there’s no tomorrow when Fundy compliments him.

He thrives with the added responsibilities and tasks his new role has allowed. It becomes clear. All Tubbo wants is to impress others. He should stop that. It will get him nothing but hurt and disappointment.

And Dream… he revels in it all. Emotions are high on the air. It emboldens him as well. Puts the wind back in his sails, allows him to scheme for tomorrow.

Maybe it would have been best to crush L’manberg under his feet when he had the chance.

But with chaos always strong in the air… Dream can’t help but think he made the right decision.

-

Their little land has been growing, getting more complicated by the day. More and more travelers flock to the community. Reveling in the untapped land and seemingly friendly faces.

All of them fall into the same trap. The same sinkhole they all have stumbled into. The want for power, and control, and _chaos_. The need to keep others under a boot. Chests filled with more items than one could ever use. To steal the things that matter most and keep them for a rainy day.

No matter how friendly a face may seem, one must always wait to see their teeth.

Just as Dream hoped, the election is chaos. The country Wilbur and Tommy worked so hard for is ripped away from them. All the people they once called friends turn to them with bows raised. They’re forced to flee. Dream smiles beneath his mask.

Tubbo is called to the stage then. The new President, Schlatt, places a heavy hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, dragging him forward. Dream keeps a sharp eye on the horned man. Tightens his grip on his sword.

Tommy and Wilbur deserve it. Of course they do. But not Tubbo. If Schlatt raises a single finger against him, Dream will tear this whole place to the ground. For democracy’s sake, of course. Nothing more.

No weapons are drawn. Tubbo keeps his position. He and Fundy stand at Schlatt’s side. Fundy looks ecstatic, more than willing to shun his father. But Tubbo… He looks like he’s going to be sick. Dream can’t blame him.

He wants the chaos, the plot twists, the betrayal. And Schlatt is _good_ for it. He’s provided more than enough to last them all weeks. Even so, he retains a glimmer in his eyes. A promise that this is only the beginning.

The walls are torn down, the country renamed. The flag burned to the ground and replaced by one much more sinister. Suddenly, Dream is forced to see not the downfall of L’ma— _Manberg_ , but everything. Everything they’ve built here.

Dream is forced to confront the fact that he might not be the only one in charge anymore.

-

There are times that Dream think it’s impossible. There’s no way Tubbo simply _forgot_. Deep down, whether he knows it or not, he remembers something. _Some_ part of what happened.

It seems so obvious, as he watches from the shadows. Spies on as Fundy and Tubbo prance around their freshly built campsite. Tubbo prattles on about… _Dreamons_. Some dark force befallen the land.

At its core, it’s nothing more than a game. A way for Fundy and Tubbo to distract themselves from the new nation they’ve sworn themselves too. The best friend and father they watched be dragged away. It’s an escape for them.

Dream can’t help but wonder if that’s really the truth.

Quietly, he takes it all in. Watches as they march around, crossbows drawn. How they eventually drag Sapnap into it, trying to _exorcise_ him. He’s forced to confront it then. They’re really just kids. Kids thrown into war, and politics, and…

They deserve some fun. He lets them be.

Even so, as he listens in, watches Tubbo… It really does seem impossible. The way Tubbo describes this _Dreamon_ … He knows.

Whether Dream likes it or not, Tubbo has him all figured out.

-

Though he decides early that he will not intervene directly, Dream continues to keep tabs on Manberg.

Truthfully, the whole thing has him torn. He sees what Schlatt truly is. More than that, he sees what he might turn into. It frightens him, to a degree. Causes him to worry for the safety of his own lands for the first time in… well, _ever_.

It would only make sense for him to try and take Schlatt down. But he was elected. And Dream… he’s not supposed to meddle in the affairs of Manberg. Not openly, at least. That was one of the unspoken agreements of the war.

Plus, well… meddling is what that darker part of him wants. It begs him to act out. Scatter the seeds of chaos and harvest its yield. He doesn’t want to anymore. He’s been doing it for long enough now, whatever he’s gained from it will last. It _has_ to last…

No matter how strong he pretends to be, it’s hard. Sometimes, it’s just too enticing. An opportunity is laid out right in front of him. Presented so beautifully and easily, what else is he supposed to do but oblige?

What is he supposed to do when Wilbur asks for pounds of explosives? Turn him away, after he’s already been turned away from everyone? That would simply be cruel.

When Tommy is shaking with rage and grief, asking him to help destroy Sapnap’s Eiffel Tower… Well, why shouldn’t he? It’s Sapnap! They mess with each other all the time! What’s the bother in helping Tommy for once? Teaming with Techno and slaughtering a sizable portion of his friends… What’s the harm in that?

But he’s had his fun, he convinces himself. He’s meddled enough for now. When he receives an invitation to the Manberg Festival, he vows he will simply watch. Let the people enjoy their fun, or fester in the tragedy…

And, for once, he sticks to that. Simply wanders with the crowd, enjoying the games Tubbo has set up. Pretends not to notice the two outlaws sitting on a nearby roof. Jeers with the crowd during the boxing match.

During Schlatt’s speech, Dream simply stands at the back. Leans against a pole, pretending to be bored. Tubbo gives a speech once the President is done. It’s hard not to be happy for him. He seems content here.

Tubbo hardly gets to finish his speech before Schlatt is taking the spotlight again. Before he’s passing concrete over to Quackity. There’s hardly time to process anything before Tubbo is boxed in.

Technoblade is called to the stands. It’s then that Dream thinks he should do something. None of this sounds good. It’s all… all wrong. Schlatt is talking, and giving Techno orders, and Dream _knows_ how the President thinks. He knows what’s going to happen next.

But he doesn’t meddle. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe, until the firework blast goes off.

Everything goes up in a puff of colorful smoke then. Once the original blast clears, three limp bodies come into view. For a long moment, Dream can only stare at the young boy in a box. He’s not sure what he feels when Tubbo’s body begins to disintegrate.

There’s no time to dwell on it, as Techno’s maniacal laugh flows over the crowd. He points his crossbow down at the bystanders. Dream leaps back before the first shot goes off. Screaming and smoke fill the air, suffocating everything else.

Watching it all, the worst kind of high falls over Dream. Despite his own horror, something inside of him relishes in it all. The chaos and the violence and the _death_. He grins, hands shaking with euphoria as the festival turns into a funeral.

-

The forest is quiet—a sharp contrast to the nation left in shambles not far off.

Apparently contented with his day’s work, Technoblade leisurely makes his way back to his base. It’s nearly dawn by now. Blood drips off Techno’s hands. His knuckles are bruised. None of it came from what happened at the festival.

Techno slows to a stop, shoulders tensing. He looks up just in time. The look in his eyes as Dream leaps down from the trees is nothing short of hilarious. Even with his impressive reflexes, Techno can’t move out of the way fast enough. Dream pins him to the ground.

Of course, Techno never was one to go down easy. With his impressive size, and superior strength, he flings Dream off him. They’ve always differed that way. Techno fights with brute strength, whilst Dream dances around him. No matter how many times they meet, it’s exhilarating.

But tonight, Dream isn’t here to enjoy a scuffle with an old enemy. No, there’s rage pounding in his veins. A vengeance clenching his muscles, forcing him forward. 

Even so, Dream isn’t quite keen on trying to kill him. It would probably do more harm than good. Perhaps he goes too easy on him. Perhaps he’s too generous to Techno’s obviously exhausted state.

Their scuffle lasts only a few moments before Techno gets his crossbow out. Dream is just as fast with his own. They end up in a stalemate, waiting for the other to pull the trigger. Neither does.

“I’ve had a long day,” Techno huffs, ear twitching. “Whatever your problem is, I’d prefer if it could wait until—”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure you’re just _beat_.” Dream spits. “Mercilessly executing teenagers at the order of your enemy sure does take a lot out of you, huh?”

At that, Techno’s brow scrunches. He even lowers his crossbow an inch. Dream does not return the favor.

“Why would you care?” Techno questions, sounding genuinely curious. “I thought you liked it, same as I do. The chaos and all. Who cares if I kill some pipsqueak in a suit—”

Dream adjusts his aim and fires. His crossbow bolt lands in Techno’s stupid cape, pinning it to the ground. Once more, Dream leaps at Techno. He topples the pigman. In a flash, he draws his axe, holding it high above them.

“ _I care_.”

“You sound just like Tommy.” Techno rolls his eyes. “What was I supposed to do? The whole nation was there, they’ve would’ve instantly—”

“You could’ve taken them. Don’t play dumb. I _know_ you.”

For a moment, Techno only stares up at him, with his strange red eyes. Something about him has always bothered Dream. And not just his attitude, or his skillset. Looking at him, a pig in a _crown_ … he just seems wrong.

“Why do you care?” Techno asks again, harsher this time. “I thought it was you above everyone else. I thought we _agreed_ that chaos and violence are worth more than _caring_.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Dream has to stop short then. That’s one of the things that bothers him about Techno. They’re too similar. Alike in too many ways. Without even really _interacting_ with each other beyond a clash of swords, they know each other. Probably better than anyone else knows them.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t hide from Technoblade.

He loosens him grip on his axe. It disappears in a small flash of light. Wordlessly, he stands up, pulling the crossbow bolt out of the ground as he goes. Techno groans as he sits up, wipes his stupid regalia off. Dream puts some distance between them, like that will protect him from Techno’s keen eye.

“Just promise me.” Dream tries to sound intimidating. It’s never worked on Techno, but he has to try. “Whatever you do next, leave Tubbo out of it. If you don’t—if you lay a single _finger_ on him—I swear I will kill you. I will hunt you for as long as it takes until you’re out of lives.”

Techno tilts his head to one side, still sitting on the ground. There seems to be nothing behind his eyes, but Dream knows better. He cracks his knuckles. With another groan, Techno pushes himself to his feet.

“Fine.” He narrows his eyes. “On one condition. You don’t hurt Tommy anymore.”

Somehow, Dream manages to bite his tongue over the protests that immediately want to jump out. That’s just… That’s too far. It’s _Tommy_. He’s always the one picking fights, always the one getting under Dream’s skin. Why _shouldn’t_ he torment him?

Because Techno doesn’t want him to. Just like Dream doesn’t want Tubbo to get hurt. They’ve both revealed their hands. An equal exchange of weaknesses. If either of them breaks their promises, they know exactly how to get the other back now.

“Alright. Deal.”

-

It’s not hard to pinpoint what pushes him over the edge. What forces him to that place he can’t return, what perhaps ruins him forever. It isn’t hard to know what it is that twists him, turns him.

Dream watches Tubbo. Just like he always has. It gives him comfort in a strange way. Gives him a little peace, amongst it all. And so, after the festival, he lingers. Crouches in the trees and listens. Watches the entrance to Pogtopia, mind quiet.

He waits.

His patience is rewarded by nothing kind. Instead, it is of a boy, limping out into the sunlight. Wincing and grunting quietly. White bandages peeking out under a loose shirt. A bloody piece of cloth taped over a cheek wound.

Dream is greeted by the sight of his younger brother, hurting and struggling. Scarred. Just like Dream has been for so long. And now, despite it all, Tubbo has ended up exactly the same.

Finally having Tubbo in front of him isn’t enough to keep him there. Before Dream even truly thinks about it, he’s slipping back into the forest. Ducking between the trees, marching across a lake shore. His mind races a million miles a second. A plan begins to form.

As always, whispers of lust for destruction and terror curl around him. Tug at his chest and cause his fingers to twitch. The urge to burn everything anyone has built to the ground nearly consumes him. Only one thought keeps him from plotting a collective demise.

He has to keep Tubbo safe.

There is no attempt to conceal his presence when he approaches the podium. Even so, he seems to be unnoticed. A quiet humming fills the air. Whatever song is in mind, it’s distorted and unrecognizable.

After a long moment, a low voice greets him. “Hello there, masked man. What can I do for you?”

Schlatt lounges in his large black chair. One of his legs is thrown over the side. Bottles are scattered at his feet. His hair is unkempt, his suit rumpled and sweat stained.

Even so, he retains a certain menacing quality. There’s something about the glint to his dark eyes, when they flick over to Dream. The curl to his horns, the way they catch the light. His fingers, steepled in front of him—eerily steady, despite the stench of alcohol.

“It’s quiet here.” Dream observes. “It hasn’t been for a long, long time.”

Dark clouds are beginning to roll over the land. A storm brewing. Everything around them is deserted. There are no people. There’s no shouting. No children running around, pretending they have authority. No friends greeting friends. It’s all just quiet.

Schlatt laughs, but there is no humor in it. “Yeah, well… Not many people around anymore, you know… Quackity was being a little pussy so I cut him loose… And _Fundy_ , well… I think—I think we both know what his deal is, that little bitch…”

Dream hums, folding his hands behind his back. “Looks like you’re alone out here.”

“ _Yup_.”

“Wilbur and Tommy… They have an army growing. Seems like everyone is against you now. I have to say, it doesn’t seem likely that you can retain your power. Not in this position anyways.”

Schlatt grumbles to himself as he leans forward. He sifts through his bottles. When he finds one still a third full, he grips it to his chest. Any lesser being would’ve shrunk under Schlatt’s glare. 

“Do you have anything useful to say, or are you just here to taunt me?”

Dream shrugs one shoulder. “Perhaps I have a proposition.”

“Eh?”

“I’d be willing to side with you. Stand by your side and fight for your rule. You were elected lawfully, after all. Plus, I hate Tommy and Wilbur just as much as you do. It’s been pretty nice having them gone. Pretty peaceful. I’d hate for that to change.”

Schlatt narrows his eyes, taking a swig from his bottle. “What do I gotta give you then, huh? What’re your conditions?”

“I just have one.”

“Gotta give Manberg to you? Make it part of your lands or whatever? Am I gonna be gonna some pussy puppet ruler?”

“None of that. Just a simple request for the war.”

“Which is?”

“Whatever the plan is, whatever’s gonna happen, Tubbo can’t get hurt.”

There’s a long silence following that. Schlatt’s entire face scrunches in confusion. A twinge of disgust lays in the curl of his lip. Dream resists the urge to smash one of the bottles over his head.

Schlatt’s the one that did _that_ to Tubbo in the first place. He’s the one who ordered him to die. Who’s left him scarred, in probably more ways than one. It was _Schlatt_ who did that. And looking at him now, there’s not an ounce of remorse in him.

Truthfully, Dream hates everything about him. Despises the country he’s tarnished, and the hunger for power he displays. He hates that he looks at Schlatt and sees so many parts of himself.

But this is the only way to get what he wants. He’s sure of that more than anything. Sometimes, uncomfortable decisions must be made to ensure a future success.

Sometimes, one must do things that disgust them to protect those they care for.

“You’re fucking weird, you know that?” Schlatt grumbles, finishing off his bottle. 

Dream stays silent, wincing behind his mask when Schlatt burps loudly. The president sits up, straightening his tie. There’s a distrust in his eyes when he looks over at Dream. Even so, he nods.

-

Every day, it looms closer. The unspoken battle, the chaos rising from the deep. Even those who have chosen not to be involved can feel it. When visiting from their far-off safe lands, they look around distrustfully. Eye every bush like an attack might be waiting for them.

It’s delectable. Already, the land wafts of fear, pain, chaos. Dream feels light. He feels _powerful_. There is no rest for him, his mind simply won’t allow it. He spends all his time preparing. Gathering supplies, raising his troops.

In the quiet of night, he and Wilbur make a deal. It simply seems too good to be true. But Wilbur… Wilbur doesn’t go back on his word. Lately, there’s been a change in him. When he begs Dream for help destroying Manberg, he means it. He _wants_ it.

All the pieces begin to fall into place. No matter what happens, it will be perfect. Beautiful and terrible and utterly fantastic.

He notices though. The looks Sapnap and George give him when he explains the plan. Pretends not to feel hurt when George says he has other arrangements. When he tells Dream in no uncertain terms, he won’t stand beside him, not this time. He notices how nervous George is now. How nervous George is around _him_.

Sapnap, he agrees to fight for Manberg. If only because he enjoys the conflict, enjoys being the _bad guy_. Even so, he seems reserved. More than before. He stands beside Dream, but his eyes are always on the floor. Always distant.

The day before the war, Dream gathers his troops. They are a small squad. Only Dream, Sapnap, Punz, Purpled, and Karl. It will be enough. That much Dream is sure of.

He stands before them, as the sun begins to sink, and delivers his only true order.

“Whatever happens tomorrow, you must not hurt Tommy or Tubbo. They’re only kids. They’ve both lost lives in battle before, they don’t deserve to die over it. I don’t care what you do but leave them alone. Understand?”

The rest of his troops nod, but Dream sees the way Sapnap eyes him. Like Sapnap simply doesn’t recognize him anymore. Like Sapnap doesn’t _trust_ him anymore.

It doesn’t matter, he forces himself to believe. None of it matters.

All of this will be over tomorrow anyways.

-

There are many moving pieces to it all. Dozens of people, hundreds of weapons, individual morals, and vices. Truthfully, there are a million different ways it could all play out. Dream thinks he has it narrowed down to merely a handful.

Dawn comes. With it, an army marching across the railroad. Dream counts the heads, the familiar faces glaring back at him. He lets a few possibilities trickle through his fingers.

Colorful explosions and burning arrows fill the sky. They’re pushed back. Schlatt disappears, the coward. Always willing to let others die for him, his wishes. A few more possibilities dwindle.

Dream puts his hands up, grinning behind his mask. He pulls Wilbur aside. There’s a strange comfort between them. No matter what happens between now and then, they know how this ends.

They all stand proud as the disgraced president coughs and splutters. As chunky bits of alcoholic spittle trickle down his chin. Everyone watches, as this feared man is defeated. Not by them, of course. But by his own bitter heart.

From the back, Dream watches with particular interest as Wilbur shoves Tommy onto the grandstand. Interesting. Tommy as president. That simultaneously makes things easier and harder for him…

Then, Tommy is staring right back at him, an ungodly fire in his eyes. Dream tilts his head. Watches silently as Tommy gives the leadership back to Wilbur. Notices the uneasy twitching of Wilbur’s fingers as he passes it to another.

Tubbo.

Tubbo is going to be president.

Not a word of Tubbo’s speech manages to make it past the ringing in his ears. He doesn’t know why he feels so strange. Why there’s this volatile mix of emotions in his chest.

Deep down, he wants to be happy. Wants to be _proud_. Even without him, Tubbo has found a spot. A life that he can be content in. And now, a nation to run. Dream should be… be _something_.

But as he watches Tubbo stutter through a speech, cheeks pink with his shock, eyes sparkling with hope, Dream is empty.

Then, just as it seems Tubbo is going to begin his new nation, there’s an explosion. Colorful smoke fills the air again. Dream’s axe appears in his hand out of instinct. Once the smoke begins to clear, Dream feels his mouth go dry.

Tubbo is on the ground, wincing. Above him, Technoblade stands with his boot on Tubbo’s chest. His crossbow is pointed down. Dangerously close to Tubbo’s face. A face now smeared with pain laden tears.

Then, as if it were possible, things further go to _shit_.

The ground explodes. Withers hiss and writhe in the air, dancing to the tune of Techno’s cackles. In a newfound hole in the mountain, a winged man stands. He has a sword through Wilbur’s chest. Tears stain his face.

There’s more fighting. More screaming, more terror, more chaos. Dream doesn’t remember any of it. For some reason, he just shut down. That darker part of him took over. Seized the chance to revel in all the chaos.

Once the fight is over, and his haze begins to clear, only one thought rings true in his mind.

Techno broke their agreement.

Techno needs to die.

-

Night settles over the land. It brings no comfort. Smoke continues to rise from the crater that once was L’manberg. Heads hang low as two lives are lost. Distantly, figures wander through the battlefield. Torches in hand, kicking around for lost weapons and armor.

Dream sits on the edge of the tower where the fight began. Something close to serenity has fallen over him. In the end, it all worked out just as he wanted. Except for, well… Perhaps a few things.

There are footsteps behind him. Slow and nonthreatening. It feels like something crawls up Dream’s spine then. Still, he stays static. Tries to pretend he is unbothered by the newcomer.

“It’s been a while.”

Philza leans against the tower’s barrier, right beside where Dream sits. Out of the corner of his eye, Dream takes him in. He looks tired. There’s still flecks of blood on his shirt. It’s impossible not to see the sadness in him.

He glances back further. His heart seems to fall. He doesn’t know why he cares. It’s not like Phil _means_ anything to him. Still, the sight of Philza’s wings broken and burned causes his chest to ache.

“Didn’t know if you’d remember me.” Dream admits quietly.

Philza chuckles beside him. “How could I forget? Little boy jumping from the trees, begging me to take his brother away… That’s not something you forget, son.”

Dream only hums quietly in response. He goes back to watching the moving shadows below. Tubbo is down there, somewhere. Organizing something, already stepping up.

“Does he know?” Philza asks. And it’s simple enough. Harmless enough. Still, Dream flinches under his mask. From the way Philza eyes him, he knows he noticed.

“Why should he?” Dream laughs lifelessly. “ _He_ doesn’t remember me.”

Philza tilts his head, humming. “Maybe not entirely. But still, he might like to know.”

“That’s a nice thought, Phil. I’m afraid it’s not that easy, though. All I’ve done since he’s gotten here is torment him and everyone he cares about.”

“Well, why’ve you done that?”

“Your sons are dickheads.”

At that, Philza lets out a hearty laugh. He rubs a hand over his face, and he looks pained. Perhaps it’s insensitive, after the day they’ve had. But Dream doesn’t care. If Phil feels it okay to poke his wounds, Dream is going to poke back.

“Yeah, well…” Phil sighs. “They’re trying, deep down. Besides, I’m sure they’d say the same about you.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. That’s why I won’t say anything. _He_ thinks the same, you know. So, I keep my mouth shut.”

“Are you really happy like that, though?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

For a long moment, they only stare at each other. Then, Philza shrugs. It seems like he leaves all his worries behind, right there. He pats Dream’s back a few times, before leaving the same way he came.

Despite his best efforts, Dream can’t get Phil’s words out of his head for weeks.

-

In the days after the war, it isn’t hard to find Tubbo. Day in, day out, he’s in New L’manberg. Drafting up plans, appointing his cabinet, welcoming Ghostbur. It’s almost impossible to _not_ know where he is.

So, it’s easy, once Dream finally works up the nerve.

Building has been going well, there’s almost a foundation now. A clear path to walk without fear of falling into one crater or another. It’s another day of hustle and bustle around the nation. Somehow, it’s a welcome sight to see.

“Tubbo.”

The boy jumps nearly out of his skin. He whips around, sword appearing in hand. Dream doesn’t move when it’s pointed at him. Merely stands calmly, hands behind his back.

It takes him a moment, but slowly, Tubbo lowers his sword. Still, he looks distrustful. But for a moment, not murderous. It’s warranted, Dream thinks. He did fight against them, after all.

Hopefully though, he notices it. Dream has abided the law for the first time, appearing at the entrance of L’manberg armor-less. There is no weapon in his hand. Not even in his immediate reach. For the first time, Dream has tried.

Tubbo recovers himself, lifting his chin to stare up defiantly at Dream. If he weren’t so young and small, perhaps it wouldn’t be so comical. If his new suit fit him around the shoulders properly, maybe Dream wouldn’t find himself smiling.

“Dream.” Tubbo’s voice still cracks with youth and inexperience. “Wh—What can I do for you? Not here to pick a fight, I hope. Because I’ll tell you now, I won’t take kindly to you—”

“No, no…” Dream chuckles. “None of that. I just… I came to extend an olive branch. I wanted to say congratulations. Honestly, I can’t think of anyone more deserving than you for this position. And the country… it looks great so far. I can tell you’ll do an amazing job.”

“Oh…” Tubbo seems lost. “Uh… Thank you? I guess… That’s… I mean, yes! Of course! I hope we’ll be able to—to work together in the future! To maintain the peace and prosperity between our two nations! That would be good!”

“Yes… It will.” Dream is lucky that his mask is there to hide his smile. “I can see you still have a lot to get done, I’ll let you get back to it. Good luck, Mr. President.”

With that, he turns on his heel and begins making his way back to the community house. Even so, he feels Tubbo’s beaming smile at his back. His chest feels inexplicably light.

It’s strange. Being nice usually doesn’t make him feel so… good.

-

After that, he tries. Makes it his goal to be… _better_ again. All this… it’s too much. Even he can see that. Their land is broken, their people shattered. With the immediate conflicts resolved, it’s time for a bit of calm. A chance to rebuild and welcome newcomers.

It’s a struggle, to quell the urges. To turn his head from opportunities of misery. Force himself to greet others with a smile, and not a plan for their downfall. Even Techno is spared, despite Dream’s underlying rage.

And, throughout all his hard work, all his effort, he’s rewarded with _nothing_. Everyone still looks at him like a monster. Explain that they have it handled; they don’t need his help. They don’t need him for _anything_.

It takes time, he _knows_ that. But what’s worse is… is his oldest and only friends turning their backs to him.

These days, Sapnap and George prefer to spend their days with Quackity and Karl. Mucking around in L’manberg or making their _own_ nation next door. Neither of them gives Dream a second glance. In fact, it seems like they’re avoiding him.

That is too much for him. That hurts. Because yes, he’s messed up. He’s done a lot of _bad_. But he’s trying now, trying to be better. They liked him when he was good, so he’s being _good_ again. And they just don’t care.

It doesn’t matter what he does. How many times he asks Sapnap if he wants to go exploring. If they want to go on a nether resource gathering adventure together. It doesn’t _matter_ when he dethrones Eret and makes George _king_. All he gets for that is an ask for the crown to be _returned_.

He wants to try. So badly he wants to be better, wants to be _liked_ again. But it seems like there’s no one left to actually like him anymore. And there are so, _so_ many people to _hate_. To torment, and fight, and play like a fiddle.

For a while, he tries.

Then, George’s stupid house gets burned down. Torched by _Tommy_ , who’s been running his mouth and acting like a god since he’s been back. _Tommy_ , who has always been such a pain in his side. Such a little _nuisance_.

Tommy acts out, and just like always, Dream responds in kind.

-

For as long as anyone can remember, Tommy has been a problem.

Ever since he first arrived, all he’s done is try to get under other’s skin. Most of the time, _Dream’s_ skin. There always seems to be something with him. Some quest or battle or new nation to uphold. Somehow, he always tries to excuse it. Always _manages_ to excuse it.

But Dream? He’s had enough. Because at the end of the day… it’s all Tommy! If Tommy was just _gone_ , maybe it wouldn’t be so hard. Maybe he wouldn’t have to struggle and fight and force himself to be _good_. If Tommy wasn’t _here_ , maybe Dream could _rest_.

Maybe, just maybe, Dream could get his friends back.

He doesn’t understand it. When he goes to L’manberg with his demands and they greet him with outrage. For _once_ he’s trying _help_. Without Tommy, their nation might flourish. Grow and prosper and enjoy peace for a change.

But when Dream suggests exile, Tubbo looks at him like he’s just kicked a puppy. It doesn’t make sense to him. If anything, he’s doing Tubbo a _favor_. He’s making himself the bad guy and giving Tubbo an easy way out! So, why? Why doesn’t he _understand_?

Of course, Tommy doesn’t go easy. He tries. Dream will give him credit for his stupidity.

And sure, maybe he gets a _little_ upset. Maybe he yells and swears and slams his fists. Maybe he just can’t help it. Maybe the realization that Tommy and those dumb discs are the only things he cares about is too much.

In the morning, he returns. Up on those new walls, watching L’manberg’s cabinet, that darker part of him leaps. For a moment, he thinks they’ll refuse. They’ll turn Dream away and welcome Tommy back with open arms. And, with that, they’ll open the floodgates.

Why wouldn’t they go to war? Why wouldn’t Dream destroy their land and their senses of safety? Why wouldn’t he slaughter them all, one by one? They destroyed George’s house. They decided Tommy is more important than peace. Why wouldn’t he punish them for it?

Then, the impossible happens. Tubbo snaps.

For the first time, he speaks for himself. Puts his nation and their safety first. He betrays his best friend. That’s his job, after all. Dream smiles behind his mask.

Tommy whines through the entire boat ride. Ghostbur mimics him, as he’s prone to do. But Dream doesn’t hear a word either of them say. He can’t pay attention to any of it. The only thing coherent in his mind is the image of Tubbo with rage and grief in his eyes.

His chest seems to swell with pride.

-

The cold sun shines down over them, illuminating but adding no warmth. Winter has settled in by now, blanketing them in lifeless cool. Pockets of snow remain in shadowed corners.

The day’s chill doesn’t bother Dream much. It hasn’t for a long time. He sits up straight in his chair, gazing out over L’manberg below. It’s quiet. It’s been quiet for quite a while. Even Dream is unable to attribute it to the season.

After a long, still moment passes, he glances across the table. He doesn’t understand why they can’t get their president a suit jacket that fits. As Tubbo slouches down in his chair, it bunches up by his ears. It makes him look incredibly small.

The boy president is staring down blankly at the chess board. He’s been like that for a while now. Subdued and quiet. _Strange_. And Dream… he just simply doesn’t understand it.

Why wouldn’t Tubbo be happy? His country is at peace. It will _remain_ at peace. The biggest threat to them _all_ is a hundred miles away, forbidden to ever return. Tubbo got everything he wanted. Everything he _needed_.

Yet still, he stares down at the chess pieces. He seems empty behind the eyes. He’s not merely biding his time, waiting to find the best possible move. If anything, he’s shut down entirely.

Dream doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t interrupt whatever is going on inside his head. Instead, he goes back to calmly watching L’manberg. Tubbo’s balcony has a nice view. He’ll have to come here more often.

If Tubbo can’t be happy on his own, Dream will just have to keep doing things to _make_ him.

-

Honestly, Dream isn’t sure why he does it. Why he revels in it so much. Why he has to cackle behind his mask. Why he continues prodding the wound. He’s not sure why exactly he has to make Tommy miserable.

It’s not the urges in his chest, for once. The itching for chaos and torment. Of course, that part of him doesn’t protest. But it hardly eggs him on either. 

No, this is something entirely on his own accord. Nothing to blame but himself. And strangely, he has no qualms in it. Because he enjoys it. Watching Tommy be _scared_. Watching him _scramble_. Whine to go home when Dream knows that will _never_ _ever_ happen.

It’s fun.

Tommy is just so much fun.

So, he spends most of his days in _Logstedshire_. Following Tommy around, helping him mine. Laughing at him as he attempts to put up a tent. Promising to help Ghostbur deliver invites, then sending the ghost away and tossing them into the fire. 

Tommy seems to lose it more and more each day. Somehow, it’s easy to convince him they’re _friends_. Dream is his _only_ friend, he’s the only one who _cares_. He’ll give him pickaxes and tridents, because _what does it matter_?

It’s almost comical how stupid Tommy is.

Though his broader reasons are beyond his own comprehension, Dream knows part of the reason why. It’s Techno. All this? It’s just payback. Techno broke their promise. He _hurt_ Tubbo. Then he ran away.

When he steps out of the portal, sees that fear in Tommy’s eyes… As he watches Tommy dig a hole and dump all his freshly made tools and armor in… Once the stick of dynamite reaches the bottom, Dream smiles.

Everything is going exactly to his plan.

-

Alright, _perhaps_ he was a little harsh. Maybe it would’ve served him better to brush it off. Act like it didn’t bother him. Perhaps he should’ve just blown up that stupid basement.

There wasn’t any real reason for killing Mushroom Henry. For blowing up all of Logstedshire. Tnret… Beyond his own rage, it serves nothing. All he’s done is increase the chances that Tommy will snap out of it. That Tommy will hate him again.

So, maybe he shouldn’t have. But Tommy—Tommy went behind his back. Like the little _snake_ bitch he is. Always buzzing around him, perching on his ear. Settling between his hairs and sinking his dirty little teeth in… So itchy and irritating and fucking _stupid_.

At the end of the day, Tommy deserves it. He deserves all of it. He’s ruined everything, he’s _taken_ everything. He’s taken the discs, and turned his friends against him, and he stole his little _brother_ —

Tommy doesn’t deserve Mushroom Henry. He doesn’t _deserve_ Logstedshire, or his dumb tent. He doesn’t deserve nice tools, or a little stash of weapons. All he _deserves_ is a chance to sit on that beach. Stare at that stupid compass Ghostbur gave him and _wish_. Wish he were a different person. That’s all he _deserves_.

And so, like every time before, he’s able convince himself. He’s right. They’re all wrong, everyone else ever _spawned_. Dream is doing this for _them_. To keep them safe and happy.

Because Dream can be _bad_ with Tommy! He doesn’t have to around everyone else! He can be good again, and it’ll be _easy_. Everything will be _perfect_ again. They all just need to wait and see.

Then, dawn comes. Dawn, two days after Dream destroyed Logstedshire.

He’s at the community house, along with many others. Dealing with the aftermath of the _butcher army_. The attempted execution of Technoblade. Somehow, the L’manbergians don’t realize it was Dream that let him free. Either that, or they just don’t care.

Dream doesn’t mind either way.

Everyone’s arguing, yelling about something or other. Dream is hardly listening. He does notice however when everything goes silent. When Quackity stops midsentence. How he peers curiously out the window. The way his eyes widen.

In a second, half the room’s occupants are outside. Darting towards the nether portal of all things. For a moment, Dream thinks it’s unimportant. Just another _L’manberg_ scheme.

Then, he hears sobbing.

Tubbo.

He pushes out the door in a second, axe drawn. All he’s greeted by is the sight of Tubbo collapsed on the bridge. His face is red with tears, his hands shaking as they grip Quackity’s coat. He’s hysterical.

There doesn’t seem to be any immediate danger, so Dream sheathes his weapons. Cautiously, he steps forward. Quackity and Fundy are arguing over Tubbo’s head, trying to figure out what to do.

Like a shadow, Niki slinks past Dream and settles at Tubbo’s side. Truthfully, Dream didn’t even realize she was there. She has that quality about her. He wonders what will happen when she decides she truly wants to be seen and heard.

With her soft voice and strange accent, Niki begs Tubbo. Asks him what’s wrong, what happened? Why is he so upset? Where has he been—no one has seen him since yesterday. And now he’s returned in this state, it’s…

“ _Tommy_ ,” Tubbo shrieks, trembling harder. “Tommy, he—I went to—to—to see hi—him and he’s— _There’s nothing there_! He’s gone—he’s gone, there’s a tower, there’s—He’s _dead_ , oh heavens he’s _gone_ , he’s _dead_!”

Everything fades to background noise then, as the knowledge settles over them all. It’s not true, of course. Dream knows that. He’s been there, he’s searched. Followed the footprints, out of the forest and into the snow.

Why else would he save Technoblade?

Even so, something like grief settles over him. Nausea builds and his heart pounds in his neck. His mind runs a mile a minute. He thinks he might be shaking. It’s the most _human_ he’s felt since… _ever_.

But Dream, he is not mourning a boy who still lives. No, he’s mourning the boy in front of him. Hysterical and broken. Plagued with guilt and pure _hurt_. Dream watches Tubbo fall apart, and he cracks.

For the first time since he left Tubbo by that river, Dream thinks he might’ve made a mistake.

-

Everything is quiet after that. The land falls to mourning for its lost son. All the nation’s flags are lowered. Clouds seem to hang permanently over them. Snow falls for days, barricading all inside.

Three days after Tubbo returns from Logstedshire, a letter appears before Dream. His heart sinks for some reason. He has to force himself to break it open, to read through the few lines.

It’s the president, asking to see him. That in itself is not too abnormal. However, Dream has received letters from him before. Usually, the wording is different. Softer around the edges. The handwriting not nearly so ragged.

He’s upset, Dream decides. That’s all. Perhaps he needs some comfort and guidance from a fellow leader. Yes, _that’s all_.

The world is particularly gray as he makes his way to L’manberg. Usually, he’d bump into someone. Or at least spot them in the distance. But as he follows the wooden path, he seems to be the only soul for a million miles. It’s just him and the snow now.

On the stairs, he spots a dark splotch in the distance. He recognizes that too big suit. Tubbo is waiting for him at the entrance to New L’manberg. Right near the old van.

The closer he gets the more uneasiness falls over him. There’s nothing _pleasant_ about Tubbo’s appearance. His face is gaunt, his eyes like a raging forest fire. Matted, greasy hair falls into his eyes in fat tangles. In his shaking hands, he holds an axe.

Dream stops at the other end of the path. Silence stretches between them. Tubbo’s hands tighten on his axe’s leather grip. Dream resists the urge to draw his own. Instead, he tilts his head.

“You asked for me?”

Tubbo laughs then, a truly insane sound. Dream would’ve flinched, had the numbness not already begun to take over. He can only watch silently, as Tubbo throws his head back. As his axe goes loose in one hand, blade sinking into the soft wooden path.

“I know, Dream.” Tubbo leans against the axe’s handle, using it like a cane. “I know—I know _everything_.”

Everything in Dream seems to stop short. He can’t know. There’s no way. No one knows except Dream and Phil—and Phil hasn’t been here in _days_. Dream has kept an eye out. There’s no way Tubbo remembered on his own, so _how_ —

“I know that you were just—just manipulating us all,” Tubbo continues, voice getting louder with each word. “I know that you wanted an excuse to get rid of Tommy. And—And I know what you _did_ to him! The taunting, and the armor, the explosions— _all of it_! I know you’re the reason he’s _dead_!”

Oh.

“Alright.” Dream decides this is bad idea immediately. His mouth keeps moving anyways. “Maybe I am. What are you going to do about it?”

And he just doesn’t know _why_. Why he eggs him on. Why he does _nothing_ , even when Tubbo comes rushing at him. Axe held high, screaming like there’s no tomorrow. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t draw his own weapon. He doesn’t know why all he does is dodge weakly.

Maybe it’s the answer to all of this. Maybe he just hates himself. Hates what he’s become. Hates every single action he’s taken in the past year. _Despises_ every single moment that led him here.

Maybe he’s finally decided he just deserves it.

His actions become sluggish. He doesn’t move in time. The handle of Tubbo’s axe hits him square in the stomach. He stumbles backward. Heart pounding in his throat, instincts jumping, he looks up.

Looks up just in time to see Tubbo’s axe blade soaring towards his face.

And once again, he does nothing. Let’s it collide with his mask. Flinches at the crackling that follows. Simply lets the force of it take him down. His back hits the snow.

There’s not a moment to breathe before Tubbo is screaming again. He plops down directly on Dream’s chest, holding him down. There’s fury in his eyes like nothing Dream has ever seen before. Sunlight catches the blade as Tubbo holds his axe high, ready to impart the finishing blow.

Just as Dream’s accepted it, decided not to fight, everything stops. Tubbo’s eyes go wide. Shock and terror seem to take over him. Ever so slowly, his axe goes loose in his grip. It clatters down into the snow between Dream’s feet.

The sound of it falling seems to shock some life back into Tubbo. As soon as it’s down, he scrambles off Dream. Falls back into the snow. Kicks away like he’s trying to escape a—a _monster_.

That’s when Dream realizes it.

His mask is broken.

He pushes himself to sit up, shards of his mask falling into his lap. He rubs at them idly, as if that will put them back together. It’s strange. Having the cool wind on his face. Running across his nose and the divots of his scars. Idly, he notices the blood dripping down his cheek.

Glancing up, he startles at the sight of Tubbo. Still wide eyed and shaking. Now, his cheeks are stained with tears. Something else burns in his eyes now. Betrayal. Betrayal and _disgust_.

Everything Dream is made of seems to shrink. Because he knows. Looking at Tubbo now, _eye to eye_ , he knows. And every thought that forms turns to panic.

Tubbo speaks, and it’s a whisper as brief as the wind.

“Clay?”

No. No, no… _no_. He’s not supposed to know that name, he’s not supposed to remember. _Why_ does he remember, why does he _look_ like that, why is this all—

Hardly a second more can pass before Tubbo is scrambling to his feet. He nearly slips five times before managing to stand. Then, he turns, and he runs. Runs back towards L’manberg, and _away_ from Dream. Away from his brother.

He didn’t even grab his axe.

Not bearing to watch him go, Dream lets his head fall back into the snow. Pieces of his mask poke into his hair. It’s hard to care. It’s hard to think about anything other than Tubbo leaving him.

Tears soon mingle with the blood and the snow.

Whether he likes it or not, he’s just _lost_.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i appreciate it a lot ^-^
> 
> huge thanks to [jay](https://twitter.com/AzuraJay/) and [caz!](https://twitter.com/caz_unknown/) without them none of this would be possible <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/aubeerry/)


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